


Sweet, Sweet Revenge

by mulbr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Head Boy/Head Girl Smut, Smut, Tom is born in the same time period as Hermione, magical au, sorry i couldn't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 03:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulbr/pseuds/mulbr
Summary: Head Girl, Hermione Granger, has a row with her friends in the library. Head Boy, Tom Riddle, notices and takes advantage of a precocious situation. Hermione mouths off to him--and he's intent on exacting revenge in the Head's common room. Smut. Light talk of domination. One shot.





	Sweet, Sweet Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what inspired me to write this aside from the fact that I've been reading more smut lately thanks to the Tomione Smut Fest (2018), and I wanted to give it a go. Thank you to Ava Safari for giving the advice for writing one-shots to get back on track! Hopefully, you all enjoy! Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

          

**Sweet, Sweet Revenge**

* * *

 

  Tom Riddle had never had much of a liking for Hermione Granger.

           Sure, she was intelligent, pretty enough to look at, cunning and witty. But she was a bloody know-it-all, and it irked him to no end.

            It irked him that she’d matched his OWL marks in everything except Defence Against the Dark Arts.

            It irked him that she was Head Girl this year, and he, Head Boy, as they shared the same common room. It irked him that she was a bloody  _Gryffindor,_ and Merlin, did she let those around her know it. He swore he’d never forget the time she’d punched Draco Malfoy square in the face, turning around and stomping off as if it was nothing during their third year.  _Not that he didn’t deserve it,_ a voice in his head reminded him. He chuckled darkly at the thought before looking down at his Potion's essay, intent on proofreading it and turning it in early. He’d always turned his work in early, when time allowed.

            So did she. And she—with all her power and might intellectually, magically,  _vexed_ him to no end. Her friends were worse though, he had to admit. Potter and Weasley were Gryffindors through and through, but the Weasley boy seemed to have no brain and only an inkling for Quidditch, while Potter was such an annoying, petulant  _hero of the day_ type of person. Potter—always protecting the weak. Always inserting himself into business that wasn’t his,  _just because he could._

            At least Granger kept to her own business and shooed Potter and Weasley away from him when they’d begin to throw insults at his House, Slytherin, anytime the four of them crossed paths. He could begrudgingly respect her for that, at the least.

            They didn’t like him, and he didn’t like them. It was simple enough, but Tom had enough sense to go about his insults in a much less direct way. He would not waste his time on childish rebuttals. That was Draco’s forte.

            He heard a soft sigh behind him, and he turned in his library chair to see none other than Hermione Granger, Head Girl robes and badge as shiny as ever, brunette curls sleek and defined, reading through some sort of academic book. He couldn’t make out the name from this distance but nonetheless, he rolled his eyes. She was a bookworm, that was for sure, but she didn’t seem to put her magical abilities to use in a practical manner. She was book smart. No one could deny that, hence her marks being just beneath, if not the same, as his in damn near  _every_ subject.

            “Harry, I found her!” He heard the Weasley’s obnoxious voice overtake the library and he cringed slightly as he was broken out of his thoughts. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Gryffindors had no manners.

            “Ron, cool it, will you? This  _is_ the library, you know.” Potter tried to reason as he walked quickly behind Weasley, mediating his petulant friend  _again_. As much as Tom hated Potter’s ‘hero of the day’ complex, he had to give credit where it was due and admit that during times like this, that complex came in handy.

            Hermione had looked up upon hearing Weasley’s loud voice and sent a glare in his direction. “Ron,” she started quietly, “this is the library, for Merlin’s sake! Keep your voice down or Madam Pence will have you—”

            “I know, I know. She’ll have me ‘removed’ and give me detention. Who cares, ‘Mione? We’re almost done with the school year, and—”

            “Ronald,” she warned, “keep it up and I’ll have to deduct house points. What do the two of you want? I’m in the middle of something.”

            Potter sat next to her on the floor in the corner of the library, whispering something in her ear. She rolled her eyes, “He can take care of that himself. I’m busy. His relationship problems with that wench are  _none_ of my concern.” She all but hissed, and the Weasley’s eyes immediately hardened.

            “Pity, ‘Mione, thought you’d be a good friend to me for  _once_. Lavender and I—”

            “Ron, I don’t give a bloody  _fuck_ about you and that idiotic excuse of a witch! And a good friend to you for  _once?_ Are you—ugh!” she was restraining herself from being loud, Tom could tell, but the spectacle was too much of an enjoyment to him for him to turn his attention away completely.

            “Hey! Don’t talk about Lav that way! I’m sure you’d hate it if she knew that’s how you felt.”

            “And if  _Lav,_ ” she mocked lowering her voice to near Weasley’s tone, disdain clear in her brown orbs, “has a problem with how I feel about her, once again, Ronald, I  _don’t give a bloody fuck._ Go ask Ginny for help; I’m sure she’d be more than willing to accommodate you in your needs, being that she’s your sister. I’m Head Girl—I have a limited amount of free time on my hands and I will most certainly  _not_ waste it worrying about your relationship problems with that stupid, petulant—”

            “Alright, enough!” Harry hissed quietly before standing to his feet, “Ron, let’s go. I told you it was a bad idea to ask ‘Mione in the first place—”

            “Well you were right, mate. She’s a self-centered bitch. Wish I would’ve known that before I became friends with—” Weasley’s words were cut off as she sent a wordless  _and_ wandless, particularly strong, stinging hex his way. “Ow! What the  _fu—”_ he started to scream, but Potter was smart enough to grab Weasley by the back of the neck with one hand and cover his mouth with the other, leading him towards the exit of the library. “Ron, you need to learn when to keep your mouth shut. You’re lucky she’s Head Girl this year or you likely would’ve gotten worse than that,” he heard Potter speak in a hushed tone, making him smirk.

            Granger was riled up already, hmm? He supposed now was as good a chance as ever to get his shot in. He pointed his wand towards his materials, sending them back into his bookbag. He slung it over one shoulder and slowly made his way over to Granger.

            “Ten points from Gryffindor. Granger, being Head Girl, I’m sure you know better than to hex someone in the middle of the library for mere words.”

            Hermione finally noticed his presence, eyes narrowed up at him. “Shut it, Riddle, or  _you’ll_ be next.”

            Tom frowned slightly at this but decided to bite the bait. “I doubt that very much, Granger. Do I need to remind you who retains the highest mark in DADA? I’ll give you a hint… it’s not  _you_.” His mouth slowly curled into a sly grin as he watched her shake with anger. He’d never seen her like this before, in seven years. Not to this extent, and  _certainly_ not towards her friends. He wondered…

            “Look, Riddle. I know you love to gloat about how you are superior to everyone around you, including your little "friends," but at least the rest of us aren’t putting on a front to get by because we’re scared that if we show our  _true_ selves, we won’t be accepted.” She stood to her feet, mere inches from his chest now. He was quite a bit taller than her, so she, with her small frame, looking up at him murderously made him want to burst out in laughter more so than be intimidated. Regardless, her words were enough to antagonize him.

  
            “I know you’re a little know-it-all, but at least  _some_ of us are able to put our knowledge to practical use.”

            Granger’s eyes narrowed further, her face red with anger. He noticed that she was gripping the hilt of her wand tightly, as if she was willing herself not to hex him into oblivion.

            Not that she could even if she’d tried.

            Suddenly, her facial features relaxed, and he found himself rather befuddled by that. She bent down to pick up her book and her bag, carelessly throwing the first into the latter. She slung her bag over her shoulder and began to walk away, leaving his mouth open slightly and his eyes narrowed in confusion. As she flounced away, curly hair swinging from side to side as she did so, she suddenly turned back to him with a sly smile on her face.

            “Oh! By the way, Riddle, I meant to extend my congratulations. On making it to adulthood, I mean. I’m sure you were so terribly tired of that wretched muggle  _orphanage_ your parents left you in, you poor thing. Now, at least you can move on with your life and stop that ridiculous façade of the  _poor little orphan boy_  who just so happens to be more talented and more intelligent than everyone else.”

            Tom’s eye twitched. She’d struck a nerve on purpose. He stood there in minuet shock, unsure of what to do. How  _dare she—_

He faintly heard the library door shut as his hands balled up into fists. He checked the time quickly. It was half past nine at night on a Friday. The prefects were doing rounds tonight, which likely meant that Granger was headed to the Head’s common room.

            He would make her pay for that ridiculous comment. He looked around, noticing few onlookers staring at him with  _pity._ She’d done it all on purpose. To light a fuse, and to make it explode because she learned quickly—and she knew he absolutely despised being pitied.

            With the lone thought of revenge on his mind, he stalked off to the Head’s common room, intent on teaching Hermione Granger a lesson she’d never forget.

 

* * *

 

             

            As predicted, Granger was curled up on the sofa with a book in the Head’s common room, a silk short sleeved, burgundy night gown on that didn’t quite reach her knees.

            He drew in a deep breath at the picture of her—wondering what kind of moans he could elicit from her if she’d let him— _what the fuck?_ He felt repulsed by his thoughts then, a sneer drawing itself on his exquisite face as she finally recognized his presence.

            A soft look took over her features as she shut her book, facing Tom. “Tom, I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have—look,” she sighed, looking down at her hands as she began to explain her outburst, “it’s been a long day. Ron and Harry—well, you don’t want to hear about them, but they’ve gotten me fired up all day today, and—well, as spiteful as  _you_ were, I took it too far. I—I’m sorry.”

            Tom nodded once in acknowledgment of her apology, a charming smile gracing his lips. “I understand. No need to apologize, Hermione. You were right about one thing, at least,” He dropped his bookbag to the floor, long legs slowly started stalking towards her. She showed no signs of fear—why should she? She had no idea what he was capable of, no idea what kind of  _pain_ he could inflict on her, as he did his Knights, no idea—

            He stopped when he was behind her, slowly placing a hand on either side of her head on top of the couch, leaning down so that his mouth was next to her ear. Her breath quickened, but otherwise, she stayed still. “I have no need for the  _façade_  anymore. At least, not around you,” He snatched her by the hair and forced her head back, causing her to shriek out of unadulterated shock. He resisted the urge to smirk at her reaction; how could the oh-so-nice Head Boy do such a thing?  _No matter,_ he thought,  _I have more important things to handle at the moment._  It was then that he pointed his wand directly at her throat.

            As he did so, he noticed the slight cleavage that became apparent on her chest, watching as her breath began to quicken and as a result, her chest heaving heavier and heavier. Her soft, somewhat tame brown curls brushed against him because of the angle he’d held her in.

            “Do you know, Hermione, why I am  _always_ a step ahead of you in Defence?”

            She audibly gulped and went to grab for her wand, but he bound her arm to the armchair of the couch before she could with a lazy flick of his wandless hand.

            He leaned in closer, “Answer me.”

            He watched her consider this for a long moment, which, admittedly, surprised him. She was still calculative even when faced with the possibility of being harmed. It was… odd, to say the least.

            “I—I don’t know,” she finally spoke, her voice ragged, “I suppose, well, you were in Dueling club for years, I only participated for one year. You—you seem to have more experience,  _practically_  speaking—”

            His dark chuckle along with the tightening of his fist in her hair promptly shut her up.

            “Wrong answer.”

            “Tom.” she was starting to get anxious now and it showed in her shaky voice, afraid of what he might do to her with his wand pressed in her throat. The thought excited him—because she had  _no_ idea of what he was capable of. “T—think about what you’re doing, Tom. If—if you hurt me—”

            “Then what? Your little friends,  _Potter and Weasley_  will come to the rescue? I doubt that very much, considering the little show you and your friends put on for the library earlier.”

            His velvet-like voice was dangerously low, and he was so close to her that Hermione could feel his soft, wavy black hair brush against her forehead.

            “Tom—please,” she had no other option but to plead with him to stop, stop whatever it was that he was doing, because she wasn’t sure, but it seemed—

            “I’ve always been an avid… fan, shall we say, of the Dark Arts—”  _his wand pushed deeper into the skin of her neck and his grip on her hair tightened even more, so much so that she thought he might pull a chunk of hair away with his fist_ “—and my  _friends_? They’ve been on the receiving end of my experimentation with the Dark Arts. In fact, they are at the receiving end of my wand anytime they disobey or disrespect me.”

            Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion, her fear forgotten for just a slight moment.  _His… his friends? He—he hurts his friends?_

“No, little witch.” His eyes were boring into hers as he hissed at her, flickers of red skimming through them as he scanned the surface thoughts of her brain, “They aren’t my friends. I’ve used the wrong word for far too long now, I suppose. They are my  _followers,_ my  _resources._  And disrespect or disobedience comes at a price. Now, it just so happens that we share this lovely common room, and as such… I can deal out a punishment that I see fit for your insolence earlier.”

            Suddenly, his wand was pulled away from her neck, replaced with his hand. He put the lightest bit of pressure on her throat, and she found herself appalled at how she was suddenly getting heated to the core by this action. She was becoming nauseated at the thought of being hot for  _him—_ of all people— _why_ —

            “You’ve irked me for some time now, Hermione,” he rounded the arm of the couch, his hands still in place in her hair and at her throat as he leaned forward, almost as if he were going to kiss her—

            “And now,” he hissed in her ear lightly, “it’s time you pay your price.”

            She was suddenly thrown down onto her back, his hands still wrapped around her neck and in her hair. “Tom—”

            “Don’t pretend that this isn’t what you want, Hermione,” his voice went from dangerous to seductive, and she felt her core growing hotter at his words. “Want  _what,_ Riddle?” she grit out behind closed teeth. Her fear was quickly subsiding and being replaced with blatant irritation, along with something else— _something else she couldn’t place except she knew what it was and she just didn’t want to **face** that—_

“You are such a dominant witch,” he breathed, his grip around her neck tightening ever so slightly, “haven’t you dreamt of being  _dominated_ by a wizard that can keep up with you?”

            Hermione said nothing, only noticing how his trousers went rigid at his groin, and she suddenly understood what he was talking about. She fought with herself internally for what seemed like forever as he stared down at her, like a  _predator_  who had finally caught its prey—lust deep in his eyes.

            The hand that was in her hair slowly let go, trailing down her silk gown, past her thigh and inching upward underneath her gown. She did nothing to stop him. She—she wanted this. As much as it pained her to admit it, he was right. She wanted this, even if it was  _just once—_ to know what it felt like to be submissive to such a powerful man—a powerful wizard. No one could ever—

            “You’re already soaked,” he chortled darkly as his fingers brushed lightly against her damp knickers, causing her to shiver in excitement. “I wonder… are you a virgin, Hermione?” he asked lightly, lowly, as if he was asking her about the weather.

            She moaned slightly at the contact of his fingers against her thin, cotton knickers, nodding shyly at him, “Yes, Tom.”

            “Has anyone ever done this—” two fingers were pushing her knickers aside, and she felt her core growing hotter by the second. She knew what he was going to—he pushed two fingers inside of her and she groaned loudly, back arching off the couch as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, circling her most sensitive spot strategically, “—before?”

            She moaned in pleasure before she nodded again, eyes closed until he roughly pushed a third finger inside of her. She squealed oddly—a noise she’d never heard from herself before.

            “Who?” his voice was deep and dangerously low,  _possessive_ , almost.

            She felt a blush creep upon her cheeks as he pumped in and out of her, rubbing her g-spot as she’d learnt to do when she’d done this herself. But he did it so much more efficiently, and she was grasping at the couch with one hand, grasping at her right breast with the other—

            “Look at me.” He commanded, not stopping his pace and seemingly not caring that she felt so breathless that she couldn’t answer him, “Who?”

            “M—” she tried to breath out, but his fingers were moving masterfully inside of her, as if he’d done this a thousand times and the thought disgusted her in one sense but in another, it made it all the more sensual that he was doing this to  _her,_ that he was her first, an experienced man— “Me… I—I’ve done it.”

            His voice immediately lightened, though the possessive undertones didn’t change. “Ah. I see.” Suddenly, his head was inching further away from her and towards her knickers. “Tom?”

She questioned, nervous— “What are you—”

She felt something wet and hot flicker over her clit. She shivered as his fingers continued working and his tongue lapped lightly at her nub. “Ugh— _Tom_ …” she heard herself moan, but she didn’t feel as if she was in control. It was as if some other force was taking over her—her primitive instincts to be pleasured and to please—it was, it was—

            He suddenly removed his fingers, and she whined at the missing contact. “Shh.” He commanded, before his tongue delve between her folds— _inside of her in a way she couldn’t imagine_ —his thumb now working her nub and his tongue tasting her.

            “You taste exquisite.” Tom husked as he leaned up to kiss her, her juices on his lips. She blushed at the thought, returning his kiss, tasting herself upon his lips. It made her breath quicken even more,  _if that were even possible what was he doing to her how did he unravel her like this what—_

            He began to unbuckle his trousers, and she felt herself grow nervous as he did. “Tom—I’ve never done this—”

            “Shh. It’s okay. Neither have I.”

            She stilled at his words, brows furrowed, “You’ve never—”

            “No. I wanted to wait… it needed to be a—a  _powerful, special_ witch. This might hurt at first, but you’re wet enough that maybe it won’t hurt as badly as it could,” he warned lightly, but she knew that already.

            Suddenly, she felt the head of his cock at her opening. Her nerves were in full force now and she was shaking in anticipation. It felt rather large, for something that was supposed to fit  _inside_  of her. Of course, being of age, she knew how sex worked technically speaking, but she had no practical experience, until, until—

            His hands wrapped around her shoulders and he pushed inside of her, groaning as he did. His movements were slow at first, likely allowing her to get used to him, breathing hitched in poorly hidden pleasure.

            Hermione gasped as he squeezed himself inside of her, a slight sting present but quickly fading away as he began to move. She—she wasn’t used to feeling so  _full._ And his movements—his movements made her want to squirm and shiver and scream all at once, but all she did was moan his name over and over— “Oh, Tom…  _Tom Tom Tom.”_

            Her moaning seemed to invigorate him, and he began to pump faster—faster and  _harder_ and oh, was it  _marvelous—_

            His lips were whispering in her ear again; she could barely register what he was saying because the pleasure—it was building and turning into something unfamiliar—

            “Tell me,  _lioness_ ,” he murmured through panted breaths, “what does it feel like to be taken by a wizard of great power—by  _me?_ ”

            Hermione didn’t reply immediately, shivering as her body—her cunt began to contract slightly, and she knew—she  _knew_ what was coming—she couldn’t stop herself from mewling his name—

            He wet his lips, dropping his head down to kiss just beneath her ear as his pace quickened a _gain,_ and Hermione found herself wrapping her legs around his waist—deepening their connected sexes and it felt  _glorious—_

 _“Answer_ me, or I’ll stop,” he warned, his pace dropping and his member pulling away from her slowly.

            Hermione panicked because she’d been so close— _so close—_

“I—I don’t know how to—” her breath was hitched and clumsy, “I—” she swallowed the lump in her throat, along with the nervousness that egged at her when he asked her these questions. Her eyes darkened with lust—untainted  _want_  as she said, “I want more of it—of  _you,_ Tom. I—I don’t want anyone else’s cock in my—”

            She didn’t even get to finish her sentence as he pushed inside of her once more, filling her to the hilt, cutting her words off as she cried out in a light-headed sort of pleasure.

            “It’s settled, then,” his elbows were digging into her shoulders somewhat uncomfortably, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was his cock staying inside of her until she came. All she cared about was hearing that husky, velvet voice murmur sweet nothings— _dirty_ nothings into her ear—

“You’re  _mine.”_ His voice was intensely dark and she couldn’t help but to revel in the words that would’ve normally irritated her, because she wasn’t an object but for this—if he would give her  _this—_ she’d gladly be whatever he wanted her to be.

            “Tom—” her voice was sweetly innocent, and it drove him into a frantic pace, “I—I think I’m going to—”

            They both shattered in pure ecstasy, Hermione still mewling his name as she felt his cock pulsating inside of her, causing her to tighten her grip on his waist with her legs because she wanted to be  _his—_

            He collapsed on top of her, vaguely aware of how their combined sweats and sexes smelled and it only served to arouse him again—and he suddenly didn’t want to push away this human urge anymore. Not—not with  _her._

They laid like that for some time until Hermione cleared her throat, “Uh—Tom?”

            “Yes?”

            She struggled to sit up with him lying on top of her, so he removed himself and sat next to her. Her waved his wand over the two of them, cleaning them of their sweat and combined cum—as much as he hated it. He wanted  _her_ to know who had taken her, but he supposed that was still in the forefront of her mind, as he watched his cum drip out of her cunt with his lips slightly parted—

            “What—what did you mean by—when you said  _you’re mine?”_ She questioned, head slightly cocked to one side. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her brown orbs, remembering vividly how they’d rolled back as she whispered his name while he pleasured her— _Tom Tom Tom—_

He sighed, picking his boxers off of the floor and pulling them on before he decided to take her again. “Granger, I thought you were supposed to be the Brightest Witch of the age?” he teased, a lopsided smirk appearing over his Grecian features.

            Her brows furrowed as she realized that he was toying with her—was joking. Had—had it all been a joke? Some sort of bet with  _Malfoy—_

Anger started to build up in her chest at the thought of that. Tom deflowering her because of a  _bet._ “What’s that supposed to mean, Tom? Was this all some sort of—a plot between you and that wretched excuse of a wizard, Malfoy, to—to—”

            “No.” he corrected her quickly. “I meant that I am henceforth officially courting you.”

            Hermione felt a hot blush creeping over her cheeks, searching for her knickers as she did so to hide said blush. “I thought you… I thought you hated me?”

            Tom chuckled at this, “You infuriate me with your ability to keep up with me intellectually. But maybe…” he cleared his throat, not used to admitting any sort of emotion, feeling or sensual desire,  _especially_ in front of a Gryffindor witch— “Maybe we’d be good together. In fact, I  _know_ we would be. Imagine the things the two of us could accomplish—together. You are the closest thing I will ever have to an equal, Hermione.”

            Hermione found her nightgown and slid it over her head, unable to locate her knickers. His words slowly processed in her mind, but… he wasn’t necessarily  _wrong._ Harry and Ron would hate it but, she’d spent the majority of her school years worrying about  _them—_ their emotional and relationship problems… Maybe it was time for her to take charge of her own life—maybe it was time she decided that she didn’t give a  _fuck_ about the opinions of others—friends or not.

            “I…” she started, before her wide brown eyes looked deeply into his dark, jade ones, “Okay,” she stopped, watching a smile slowly spread over his brilliant, spectacular set of teeth, “Let’s see what we can accomplish together, Tom. Aside from—” her blush brightened, and he resisted the urge to chuckle again, “—what we’ve just accomplished… together.”

            “Oh, Hermione,” he leaned back into the couch, slinging an arm over her shoulder. She tentatively leaned into him, and he found it oddly comfortable, despite his usual hatred for physical contact, “You’ve no  _idea_ the plans I have in mind… for myself—for us.”

 

_Fin._


End file.
